40th of Summer, 519 AV
"Five, annnd six...annnd seven. Annnnd..." Calla's tongue poked out of the edge of her mouth as she concentrated on the piece of parchment in her hands. She pinched along the seventh crease she just made before moving to make an eighth crease. The paper, however, had other plans. It refused to fold in half another time. "Well, shyke. Guess what they say is true."
Another day, another mundane circuit of deliveries. The courier needed something to keep her mind occupied, and, apparently, folding paper was just the puzzle she needed. She knocked on the door in front of her, pressing her shoulder into the frame as she waited for an answer. A few ticks later, a short, portly man answered the door.
"Letter for ya." Calla handed the folded piece of paper over to the man. His eyebrows immediately crushed together in annoyance. Before he could say anything, Calla threw up her hands. "Don't look at me. I got it like that." With that, she dipped back into the crowd.
Her bag was weighed down by one more package. It was a weird one, for sure; the box was labelled with a location where the recipient could be found instead of an address. "Frequents the Kelp Bar at all hours. Rotund man, answers to 'Flops.'" The courier picked up to a jog, excited to see what kind of man chooses to be called Flops.
She weaved in and out of the crowd. Calla was in the Sailor's Quarter, so the streets were wide enough for her to comfortably run if need be. She pulled her bag into one of her arms, tucking it under it so that it wouldn't obnoxiously thump against her side. Her foot was finally able to carry the full burden of her body, which brought a small smile to her face as she ran.
It didn't take long before she found herself outside the Kelp Bar. She poked her head inside, and, to her dismay, found no rotund man. "Flops?" Calla asked nobody in particular. When she was ignored by the few patrons in the bar, she shouted her question again: "Flops here?"
"Just missed 'im, lady." The bartender replied without looking up from the counter. Calla nodded her thank you and dipped back outside. It appeared that she had two options: come back later (annoying) or search for Flops in the area (also annoying). She had vague plans for the evening and nothing else to do now, so it looked like the final option was optimal.
Hands on her hips, the courier slowly spun. Before she finished a rotation, she spotted a crowd down closer to the waterfront. "Petch Flops." Calla muttered. Moving crowds were boring. But this crowd was stationary, and that could only mean one thing: drama. Flops could wait.
As she approached the crowd, Calla could hear some of the Zeltivans murmuring. Things felt somber. There was no laughter, no shouting. The more entertaining options for the source of the crowd fell away; it obviously wasn't a fire juggler if people weren't shouting. The courier pushed to the front, but immediately wished she hadn't.
On the other side of a small line of waveguard, a few dockworkers tried to pull a body out of the water. They were struggling due to the size of the body. Calla recoiled in disgust, frowning at the sight before her. She wondered if the body was that plump when it went into the water, or if the bay just bloated it. Mid-thought, an unfortunate idea struck her.
"Hey, hey!" Calla called to the dockworkers as she made her way closer to them. "You know who that is yet?" The workers nodded, causing Calla to roll her eyes. "Okay, that was me asking who that was."
"'Nother dockworker." One of the workers stepped forward as the body finally hit the dock.
"His name Flops?" Calla asked the woman in front of her.
"Yeah, actually. Ain't it ironic?" The woman laughed as she wiped sweat off her brow. "You know him?" Calla nodded mournfully.
"He and I were close friends." The courier cast her eyes downwards. She had to subdue a chuckle, so she transformed it into a small sob/sniffle type of thing. Thankfully, her head was pointed downwards so the dockworker couldn't see much. "Very, very close friends."
"Oh, shyke. I'm sorry. I ain't ever known Flops had a..." The dockworker looked back over her shoulder then stepped in between Calla and the body. "I'm sorry." Calla simply nodded, then turned away. The crowd parted for her as she went, and, for a brief moment, she felt like a god.